


Lost in My Mind

by arrozconmangos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - All Human, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Nurse!Stiles, Sick Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrozconmangos/pseuds/arrozconmangos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a brand new nurse, starting at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital's Psychiatric Ward. Derek is a patient there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** Mental Illness, (past) Suicide, (past) Non-Con, Fictionalized Mental Health Situation  
> \--Be kind to yourself. If any of these things will upset you, don't read!
> 
> *All the thanks to Monica, who is somehow teaching me English, one e-mail at a time. 
> 
> *I made art! I needed the visual of Stiles in scrubs. For reasons. Obviously.

 

                                                                  

 

\-----

The first time Stiles sees him, he’s sitting on a bench in one of the long hallways on the Psychiatric Ward. 

Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, he looks out of place on the Ward, where just about everyone is either wearing scrubs or pajamas.    
Stiles figures he must be waiting to visit with one of the residents.

“This is our long term hall,” Melissa says, waving her hands around to encompass all twenty rooms that line the narrow, carpeted hallway. “Most of the residents have been here for at least six months.”

“No discharge plans?” Stiles asks.

“Not an option for most of them.” 

Melissa continues down the hall at a brisk pace and Stiles double steps to keep up.

He hadn’t expected her to take it easy on him just because she’s known him since he was five and has a key to her house, but he also hadn’t expected this rapid-fire tour of information. 

“When do I get to meet everyone?”

“Right now. Stiles, this is Derek,” Melissa says as she stops in front of the guy sitting quietly on the bench. She leans over to attempt eye contact with him. “Derek, Stiles is going to be one of our nurses. He’s going to help us out, okay?” 

Derek frowns up at her. “This is private property.”

Melissa just nods at the non-sequitur response like it’s typical. She straightens up and motions Stiles to follow her down the hall a bit. 

When she turns to face him, Stiles prays his face doesn’t show any of the surprise he feels.

“Derek is stable, long term, PTSD, hallucinations,” Melissa explains. “I shouldn’t really say this, but with your dad, you know about the Hales, right?”

Stiles glances back, re-evaluating the man. “Um, yeah, I do.” 

Having the Sheriff as a father gives him access to all kinds of information. He knows more than he should about the unsolved arson case that killed most of the Hale family in town.

“That’s Derek Hale,” Stiles realizes.

Melissa nods. “The one and only. Trust me, the shine wears off. He’s actually one of our more mellow residents.”

Before Stiles can respond, there’s a crash and a shout from a room at the other end of the hall. 

Melissa reaches over to grasp Stiles’ arm. “I better check on that. Why don’t you go hang out with Derek for a minute?” 

She doesn’t wait for him to answer before she’s hurrying off. Her loose scrub jacket waves like a pink cape behind her.

Stiles returns to Derek and shifts anxiously on his feet. “Is it okay if I join you?”

Derek looks up at him with an intense, steady gaze. 

Stiles would be lying if he said it isn’t a little unnerving. But he also finds himself strangely intrigued by the calm, green-gray eyes on him. Derek doesn’t have that wild, unsettled look in his eyes like a lot of the residents Stiles worked with during his clinical rotations.

Stiles sits down cautiously.

Derek tracks his every movement. “Why are you so worried about me?” he asks, voice rough like his throat is dry.

It’s not the question Stiles expected, but that’s half the reason he chose this field. The randomness keeps him engaged and on his toes. 

“I’m a nurse here. I know I’m not dressed like one today.” Stiles runs his hands over his knees, smoothing out the stiff khakis he’s wearing. “But that’s because it’s just my orientation. Tomorrow I’ll be wearing scrubs just like everybody else so there won’t be any confusion. So, I guess it’ll be my job to worry about you a little. Is that okay?” 

Derek barely even blinks. 

He leans closer to Stiles, like he’s sharing a secret. “It’s your friend who’s the problem.”

“My friend? You mean Melissa?” Stiles glances up the hall where she’d gone off. “She’s a nurse, too. She helps take care of you. She’s also my best friends’ mom. Small world, right? Anyway, why do you think she’s a problem?”

“What do you think they’re going to do? Just keep cheering him on?” Derek asks. His teeth are clenched and he straight up _glares_ at Stiles.

Train, say goodbye to the tracks. 

Stiles glances around the empty hall. “Who are we cheering on?”

“I can’t stop him from playing, but you can,” Derek says as he leans back against the wall. 

He never stops watching Stiles.

That’s the really strange thing, Stiles realizes. Most residents that ramble and hallucinate don’t maintain eye contact. They stare at things that no one else can see.

Derek, on the other hand, never looks away. 

“What’s he playing?” Stiles tries, but Derek just shakes his head and crosses his arms.

Melissa comes rushing back down the hall. “Sorry, sorry. Tiny emergency. Let’s finish up, okay? Do you have any questions?”

“No.” Stiles stands up and moves to follow her. “I can just follow along tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Good. It’s going to be great having you around here,” Melissa says with a smile.

Stiles turns back for a second to say good-bye to Derek and yelps. 

Derek is standing right behind him.

Stiles takes a step back. “I’ll see you later. It was nice to meet you.” 

“Trust me,” Derek says with conviction. “Trust me—you want to.”

The strength of his stare is enough to make Stiles pause again. 

“Okay.” He nods. “I trust you, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turns away then and hurries to catch up with Melissa. 

She elbows him and winks. “Getting attached already, huh?”

Stiles runs a hand over his hair. “I guess. Sorry. That’s bad, isn’t it?” 

“Not really.” Melissa shrugs. “We all have our favorites, you know. And, Derek, he just... doesn’t interact most of the time. It’s good that maybe he’ll be able to connect with you.”

Stiles glances back once more.

Alone, Derek has returned to the bench, staring emptily at the wall.

 

\-----

 

That night, Stiles can hardly sleep. He’s anxious and excited and for the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he just wants morning to come so he can go to work.

He spends the earliest morning hours watching the full moon move across the sky through his window and then listening to his dad shower and get ready for his uber-early shift at the Sheriff’s station.

Stiles had never imagined as a teenager that he’d still be living at home after finishing college.  

Of course, he’d never imagined his mother would take her own life the night before his high school graduation either, but that’s what happened, and now, he can’t bear the thought of moving away from his dad. Living this way works for them and Stiles really doesn’t care what anyone else has to say about it.

He gets up an hour early and gets ready, dressing carefully in his new, ceil blue scrubs. 

When he gets to the hospital, Melissa is already there, hair frazzled as she darts from room to room.

“Stiles!” She calls out and waves. “Thank God, you’re here. I’m way behind on meds and I still need to get vitals on the whole left side of the hall. Hale’s having some kind of meltdown and I’m waiting on a call back from the doctor to see what I can give him.”

She pushes the vital signs cart toward him. “Can you work on these? I know you’re just supposed to be shadowing today, but it would be a big help.”

Stiles takes the cart from her and straightens his back. “Sure. No problem.”

First day. Taking vital signs. Definitely not a problem. He pushes the cart towards the first room and then stops.

Derek is sitting on the floor in the corner of the hall, his arms cradled around his stomach. 

“Um... Should I, maybe...?” Stiles turns to Melissa and gestures towards Derek. 

Melissa raises her hands in surrender. “Meltdown, like I said. I tried to move him. See if you have any luck, if you want.”

“Okay.” Stiles approaches Derek slowly and kneels in front of him. “Derek?”

He looks like a completely different person than Stiles had met yesterday. There is no composure today, no eye contact and neat appearance. 

Derek is sweating and trembling and clutching at his left arm.

Stiles opens his hands, palms up, in order to appear non-threatening. “How are you doing?”

“I was shot,” Derek pants, gripping his arm even tighter.

“The nurse gave you a shot of something?” Stiles guesses.

“No, you idiot,” Derek growls, green eyes fixed on Stiles in condescension. 

Stiles almost laughs. Of course Derek would be the type to think that it’s everyone around him that’s crazy.

Stiles reaches out and helps Derek to his feet, surprised when he comes easily. “All right. Let’s go. I’m going to help you with that.” 

Once they’re up, he keeps one arm around Derek’s back for balance as Derek bobs and weaves like a drunk all the way down the hall.

“Almost there,” Stiles assures him.

“Almost where?”

“Your room.”

“What?” Derek stops walking. “No, you can’t take me there.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles tells him calmly. “The doctor will come see you and until then you can lie down and rest for a bit.”

“Not when I can’t protect myself,” Derek says in between gasps for air.

From the rough sound of his breaths, Stiles starts to worry that Derek will work himself into a panic. He backs off.

“Okay. We don’t have to go to your room unless you want to. Do you want to?”

Derek shakes his head. “Not yet. I have a last resort.”

“A last resort? My favorite. What is it?”

“Start the car. Now.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and frowns. 

In one day, he can already see the pattern in Derek’s interactions.

Most residents are out of reality all the time, or they are grounded most of the time. Derek seems to go back and forth like the flip of a light switch. It’s disturbing in a way that Stiles can’t quite settle with.

“No cars here. I guess we’ll have to walk,” Stiles says, tugging at Derek to keep moving, but he pulls away.

Derek stumbles over to the wall and sinks down to sit on the floor again. “He’s going to have to bring me the bullet.”

Stiles kneels in front of him. He can play this game. “Okay. Why?”

“‘Cause I’m going to die without it,” Derek says. 

He finally makes eye contact and Stiles hesitates at the serious look on his face. 

Somewhere inside, he begins to worry that something is really wrong with Derek, that he really is sick and he just doesn’t have the right words to explain what he’s feeling.

It’s the most frustrating part of working with the mentally ill. Similar to children, they can’t always explain just why or how they feel sick. 

Stiles reaches out and pats Derek’s shoulder before standing. “I’m going to go see if the doctor’s around yet, okay?”

Derek looks up at Stiles like he is actually the solution, the savior. “If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time—last resort.” 

“Last resort,” Stiles agrees. 

 

\-----

 

He doesn’t get back to check on Derek until after lunch. By that time, the doctor has been to see him and somehow gotten him into bed. 

Stiles wouldn’t have imagined the put-together guy he’d met yesterday would be pale and shaky in a hospital gown today. It’s hard to believe Derek isn’t physically sick.

Stiles approaches the bed with a cup of pills. Afternoon meds.

“Hey, Derek. Feeling any better?” 

Derek stares up at him. “Why not?”

“Yes. Exactly. Why not feel better? It’s all about attitude.” 

Stiles nudges Derek’s shoulder encouragingly and waggles his eyebrows, but Derek just glares at him. 

“You faint at the sight of blood?”

Stiles can’t help but laugh. “Definitely no. I’m pretty sure this would be the wrong line of work if I did.” 

He hands Derek the cup of pills and then a cup of water.

Derek sits up to take the pills and swallows them down quickly. He holds out the empty cups for Stiles to take. “All right, fine,” he sighs as he lies back in bed. “How about this? You cut off my arm.”

“What?” Stiles almost drops the cups. “No! Not going to happen. Not cutting off any arms today. Or any other appendages for that matter. Sorry.”

Frowning, Derek turns his head toward the window, where bright afternoon sun is streaming in. “My body—it’s trying to heal itself.” 

He sounds so tired all of a sudden, so certain and resigned that Stiles winces in sympathy.

He reaches out to push Derek’s hair back from his forehead. “You’ll get there, man. I’m pretty sure about that.”

Stiles ducks out into the hall a moment later and immediately runs into Melissa.

“He take everything for you?” she asks.

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Really? He must like you.”

Stiles shrugs. “I guess. We’re about the same age, I think. I remember the fire and everything when I was in school.”

“Talk about a sob story, huh?” Melissa shakes her head and then reaches over to grip Stiles’ arm. “I’m sorry, I keep forgetting it’s only your first day.”

“Me, too.” Stiles laughs nervously. He can feel the stress creeping up on him, but for now, if he keeps working it will be fine. 

“Is Derek always like that?” he asks, trying to keep up with Melissa’s rapid pace.

“Like what? Intense? Up and down? Little Boy Lost? Yes. That last one is probably just me wanting to mother everyone though."

Stiles doesn’t disagree with her. Out loud.

“Hey, Cupcake in 205 needs to be helped to the bathroom. Can you do that?”

Stiles almost chokes on his laughter. “Cupcake?” 

“That’s what he likes to be called.” Melissa smirks. 

“Okay. Great. Gonna go help Cupcake.” Stiles waves to Melissa and turns around. 

He loves this job.

 

\-----

 

As he settles into a routine at work, Stiles realizes that he doesn’t get a lot of breaks.  

He doesn’t mind it. He has plenty of energy to run around all day and then some, but when he does have a minute he finds it’s pretty nice to sit in the sunroom at the end of the hall.

There’s usually only a few residents there and they’re almost always quiet, entranced by the television mounted to the wall.

On this day, Derek Hale is there too, dressed in his usual jeans and sweatshirt. He stands in front of the wide bay of windows, running his fingers over the seams like he’s trying to find the way out.

“Careful, Harris will call security on you for that,” Stiles remarks as he plops down at one of the tables with a bag of chips and a milkshake he’d gotten from the gas station next door.

He doesn’t expect Derek to respond to the jab, let alone know that Harris is the douchebag Day Shift Supervisor, so he’s surprised when Derek scoffs and comes over to sit with him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the entire state.” 

He raises one eyebrow, like Stiles is supposed to know what he means. 

And be sorry about it.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, pal.” Stiles points a finger at him. “I know for a fact that you’re not even the most wanted dude in this hospital, let alone the state.” 

Stiles shoves a handful of chips in his mouth, then offers one to Derek.

Derek ignores him. He leans closer over the table. “Look, the last time I talked to my sister she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.”

Stiles stops chewing.

It’s the first time he’s ever heard Derek say the name of someone that actually exists within his day-to-day reality. 

“So, you are familiar with Harris’ douchebaggery, huh?” Stiles asks, leaning back in his seat. “Unsurprising. He transcends all barriers. So, what was your sister close to figuring out?”

Derek’s eyes shift back and forth nervously. “Some kind of symbol.”

He pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket and smooths it out on the table for Stiles to see. The ‘symbol’ looks like a sort of family crest with a wolf and a sword in the center of it.

“Did you draw this?” Stiles asks. “It’s really good. Are you into art?”

Derek glares, eyebrows drawn together. Stiles can almost hear the snarky response in his head. 

_“Do I look like the artsy type to you?”_

“Sorry. Okay. A symbol. Is this supposed to mean something?”

Stiles picks up the paper to study it closer. He glances at Derek over the top of the page. “This is like some kind of murder-mystery dinner theater in your head, isn’t it?”

“If you say one word—” Derek reaches across the table, hands open with intent. 

Stiles drops the drawing and raises his hands until Derek backs off. He’s not aware of Derek ever being violent, but he’d rather not be the one to find out that he does have that capacity.

Derek takes his drawing back and tucks it into his pocket.

“No words will be said, I promise,” Stiles tells him.

Derek relaxes at this and sits back in his chair. He doesn’t fidget, but he does send scathing looks to every other resident in the vicinity.

“I bet you were one of those off-beat art kids back in school,” Stiles muses. “I can totally see you painting color wheels and explaining the deeper meaning behind a vase of flowers. I bet you even wrote poetry.”

Derek looks at him and frowns.

“I’m not saying that like it’s a bad thing.” Stiles shrugs. “I, for one, am a giant sucker for bad poetry. I mean, hypothetically, I would have loved your awful, angsty, teenage poems. And it’s not like I have anything to brag about when it comes to high school experiences. I was pretty much only known for being the spastic, ADD nerd with the crazy mother and the sheriff father.” 

Stiles shakes the crumbs out of the bottom of the chip bag and finishes off his milkshake. He wiggles the empty cup in Derek’s direction. “Do you like milkshakes? I could get you one next time, if you want. Ice cream. Yum. There’s chocolate or vanilla.” 

Stiles waits for a moment, not expecting a response, but somehow always hoping for one. He squints at Derek. “You seem like a vanilla kind of guy, I think. So, tomorrow I’ll get you one because you haven’t growled at me yet, like I hear you do to everyone else.”

Derek’s attention snaps to Stiles like a rubber band. 

“He didn’t get the necklace,” he says, eyes huge and worried.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “No, I guess he didn’t.” 

He tosses his trash in the bin and pats Derek’s shoulder before returning to work.

 

\-----

 

The next morning, Melissa finds Stiles as soon as he walks in the door. 

“Stiles! Help us, please. You’re the Hale whisperer.”

“I’m the what?” Stiles chokes out.

“You’re the best at dealing with Derek. Cupcake dumped his orange juice all over him at breakfast this morning and now Derek’s in a complete state. He won’t change. He won’t shower. He barely even let me in the room. I don’t want to have to call his uncle.”

“His uncle?” Stiles tries to cover his surprise, but he still misses a step and stumbles.

Melissa eyes him carefully. “Yeah. That’s his legal guardian. He won’t be happy.”

“I didn’t know he had an uncle. I thought everyone... you know, the fire.”

“No.” Melissa stops walking and pulls him aside for a moment. “There’s an uncle and a sister. They don’t get along, that’s why I hate calling. That and Peter, his uncle, always tries to hit on me.”

“Why don’t they visit?”

“You know that’s not for us to judge.” Melissa gives him a long look. “But, Peter’s kind of a creep and Laura, his sister, I think she just hates to see him here. I’m pretty sure admitting Derek was Peter’s idea. Laura wanted to take care of him at home.”

“Oh.” Stiles nods knowingly. “Drama.”

Melissa snorts. “Tell me about it.”

Around another corner, at Derek’s door, Stiles pauses before tapping his fingers on the door. When there’s no answer, he pushes the door open slowly. 

Derek is sitting in the chair by the window, staring at a thick book in his lap. 

“Hey.” Stiles circles the bed slowly.  “What are you reading?”

Derek looks up, eyes intense, and then refocuses on his book. It’s the dictionary.

When Stiles gets close enough, he can see the sticky, damp mess that covers Derek’s t-shirt. “Okay. Here we go. New shirt. New, non-sticky shirt.” 

Stiles crosses the room to the small dresser and pulls the top drawer open. He tugs out the first shirt he sees and holds it out for Derek. “Put that one on, okay? I’m going to get you a washcloth.” 

When Stiles comes back from the bathroom, damp cloth in hand, Derek is standing there in a too snug blue and orange striped shirt. 

He sends Stiles a look that could kill. 

“This no fit.”

Stiles bursts out laughing. “Is that even yours?” 

He pulls at the tag in the back of the shirt and sees ‘Greenberg’ written in black sharpie. “Definitely not your shirt.”

Derek pulls the shirt off and flings it onto the floor. 

Stiles sees residents in various states of dress all day long. It’s not a big deal at all. There’s absolutely no reason for the uncomfortable heat creeping into his face.

Derek isn’t even what most people would consider attractive. His time in the hospital has left him with visible rib bones, ashy skin, and fragile-looking limbs.

Still, the part of Stiles that has been growing more and more intrigued by the man, can’t help but react to the sight of all of that bare skin. 

_Try and be a little more inappropriate, if you could_ , Stiles scolds himself sarcastically.

He clears his throat and carefully hands Derek another shirt, one that actually has his name on the tag.

It hangs loose and too big at the neck.

Derek yanks it off and tosses it into the corner. He sits down on the bed in a huff.

“Stiles, none of these fit.”

Stiles freezes. 

“What did you say?”

Derek looks past him at the wall. “My name isn’t Miguel.”

Stiles stands right in front of Derek and tries to catch his eye. “No, no, no. You said my name. You know me.” He laughs happily.

Stiles waits, searching Derek’s face for a hint of recognition. “Come on. You know my name. Say it. Who am I? I know you’re in there, Derek.” 

Whatever was there is gone though, like a leaf rolling away in a breeze. 

With a sigh, Stiles finds another shirt, which actually fits when Derek pulls it on.

Derek sits quietly while Stiles wipes the juice residue off his face and neck with the washcloth. When he’s done, Derek curls over into the bed, fingers gripping the sheets tight. 

Stiles stands over him and spends a moment tugging the blanket up. “Stressful day, huh? I guess I should be more careful about what I say, since I know you’re really listening now.” 

Stiles stops his hands short of petting Derek’s hair. 

There’s a line there, somewhere, and he knows that his toes are right up against it. 

Derek sighs heavily into his pillow. “You’re not going to make it.”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” Stiles gives in and runs a hand over the short, dark strands of hair. “Get some rest, Derek.”

He slips out of the room.

 

\-----

 

Stiles gets the full-on interrogation at dinner that night. 

He and his dad’s schedules actually coincide and they sit down for dinner at the same time. Of course, it has to be on the day that Stiles feels like a wrung-out dish towel. He must look it too.

“This job is too stressful for you,” the Sheriff declares over rice and pork. 

Stiles sighs. “It’s fine, Dad. I’m okay.”

“I knew it would be too much. It’s too soon. With your mother, with the way things were-- it’s too much for you to be dealing with this stuff. With these kinds of people.”

Stiles pushes his food around on his plate and tries to avoid his dad’s eyes. “I can handle it and I like ‘these kinds of people.’”  

The Sheriff had been against his career choice from the beginning.

Sometimes, Stiles wondered if he was just waiting for Stiles to fail. Or, even worse, waiting for Stiles to turn into his mother.

“You’re not even eating,” the Sheriff erupts. “And I’ve been alive long enough to know that just because you can handle something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

Stiles doesn’t bother to reply. He shoves a piece of pork in his mouth and chews.

He has his own doubts some days. Most days, if he’s honest, but hearing it from his dad carries so much more weight.

He’d been in the same room as his dad when the doctor had told them that his ADD was severe, that he would probably struggle to hold down even a simple job and he might not ever be able to live on his own because of it. He’d also been there when another doctor not-so-tactfully explained that his mother’s condition could be hereditary.

Stiles likes to ignore all of these things. He likes to turn a blind eye and run headlong into the future, whatever it may bring.

Some days though, the mountain of problems is too big to keep ignoring.

The Sheriff rubs a hand over his mouth and sighs gustily. “Melissa says you’re doing really well,” he offers.

Stiles shrugs.

“She says you connect with people incredibly well.”

“Social butterfly.” Stiles uses his fork to point at himself.

“I... I am proud of you, son. Doing this job every day, after dealing with your mother, I don’t think I could do it. In fact, I know I couldn’t.”

Stiles meets his father’s warm gaze under the glow of the kitchen light. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I mean it. Just talk to me once in a while, okay? So I know you’re all right.”

Stiles nods. “Of course.”

 

\-----

 

Derek keeps a low profile for the next week. He spends most of his time in his room sleeping or reading.  

Stiles is grateful for the break. He still deals with Derek every day, but it’s good to see him at some kind of peace, and it gives Stiles a chance to get to know some of the other residents better.

It’s Friday evening when Derek finally comes out of his room. He tracks Stiles down in the middle of the hall.

“Did you think I was dead?”

Stiles almost drops the cup of medicine he was measuring. “Hey. No. Of course not. Why would I think that?”

Derek doesn’t answer. He hovers at Stiles’ shoulder as he continues to pass out medications. 

Halfway down the hall, they arrive at Derek’s room.

Stiles turns and holds Derek’s medicine out to him.

Derek makes a face and steps away.

“Uh-uh.” Stiles shakes his head. “Don’t do that. You’re too good for that.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he swallows the pills down so Stiles counts it as a win.

“What have you been reading all week?” Stiles asks.

Derek doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t, but he does help Stiles push the giant med cart around a gurney.

“Thanks, man. This thing needs a steering wheel.”

Derek glares at the gurney like it should be sorry for being in Stiles’ way.

Stiles grips his shoulder briefly. “Be right back.” 

He ducks into a room to record some vitals and when he comes back out, Derek is nowhere to be seen.

Stiles doesn’t see him again until he’s doing his final round at the end of the night. 

Most of the residents are already sleeping and the hall lights have been dimmed.

At the end of the hall, Stiles can hear Derek talking. He sounds upset. When Stiles rounds the corner, Derek is suddenly right there in front of him.

He flings a hand out to stop Stiles in his tracks. “Stiles, you need to get out of here.”

“I... What?” Stiles stutters, trying to catch up with what Derek thinks is going on, because there’s nothing there. The hallway is dark and empty except for the two of them.

Derek is the tensest Stiles has ever seen him, but he did say his name again. That’s a good sign. He has to be close to reality.

“Derek, everything’s okay.” Stiles tries to move into Derek’s line of sight. He speaks slowly. “We’re safe here.”

“Get down,” Derek says, his hands fisted so tight that they tremble.

“We’re safe,” Stiles tries again. “It’s just you and me and everything is okay.”

Derek shakes his head. He takes a few purposeful steps and then stumbles into the wall.

In slow motion, Stiles watches him fall to the floor and curl in on himself. It’s like Stiles can actually see him retreating to the corners of his mind that no one else can reach.

Stiles kneels down beside him, but Derek turns away and presses his face to the floor.

“It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.”

Stiles rests a hand on Derek’s back and pulls his work cell phone out with the other, in order to call one of the other nurses for back-up. He moves his hand in slow circles over Derek’s t-shirt as the phone rings.

“It’s all right, man. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not your fault. You’re going to be okay.”

It’s a promise. Stiles closes his eyes and hopes that he can keep it.

 

\-----

 

Later, hours later when Stiles should be at home sleeping, he sneaks into the medical records office and finds Derek’s file.

It had taken three staff members and a wheelchair to get Derek into his bed. Then, Stiles had had to call the doctor and the dreaded Uncle Peter, who sounded just as creepy on the phone as Melissa had described.

Stiles had never seen anyone visibly shut down the way that Derek had. 

On second thought, he had, but she wasn’t alive anymore to talk about it.

Derek’s file isn’t too thick. He hasn’t had a lot of incidents nor a lot of changes in his care. The most detailed part is the patient history.

Stiles reads about the fire, the post-traumatic stress diagnosis, the years of living between his uncle’s and sister’s houses. Apparently, Derek had just gone steadily downhill after the fire.

Peter is an actual creep, not just a metaphorical one. There are three reports of police being called to his house for noise disturbances, a domestic dispute, and violations of multiple restraining orders.

Laura’s phone number is listed and Stiles saves it into his cell, then memorizes her address.

He flips through the rest of the file. Most of it is information he already knew, until his eyes fall on a note at the end of a psych eval. 

_Probable history of sexual abuse_.

Stiles closes the file with a snap and shoves it back into the filing cabinet. 

 

\-----

 

The next day, Derek stays in bed. Stiles goes to see him a few times, but it doesn’t seem to do any good.

Derek yells and mumbles, alone in his room. 

When Stiles tries to give him his meds, he moans, “Let me go.”

Then, “Just kill me already.”

Stiles’ resolve to do _something_ builds and builds.

Stiles leaves work with anticipation humming through him. He drives on autopilot to the address he’d memorized yesterday and gets out of the Jeep to sit on the cold front steps of an old apartment building downtown.

He knows how wrong this is. He knows he’ll be fired if anyone finds out, but he also knows, more than anything else, that this is his only chance to help Derek.

Laura comes home late in the evening. Her dark hair swings behind her in a loose ponytail.

Stiles knows it’s her before he even asks. “Laura?”

She freezes, eyeing him cautiously. “Yes?”

“Hi. My name is Stiles. I’m one of your brother’s nurses at the hospital.”

Laura sits down heavily on the step beside him. “Oh, my God. Did something happen? Is he—?” 

She cuts herself off, fingers pressed to her lips.

“He’s fine. I mean, he’s okay.” Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to remember what his plan was. “I think that I could help him if I knew a little more about his situation.”

Laura grabs his arm and pulls him inside.

 

\-----

 

“You really think there’s hope?” Laura asks, glancing up in between pouring twin cups of tea. She sets one down in front of Stiles and wraps her hands around the other.

“Of course. Always. Usually. I mean, in this case, yes.” 

Stiles frowns. He’s not doing this right at all.

Laura raises an eyebrow at him.

Stiles tries to explain himself better. “Derek has had a few moments of lucidity and I think if I knew more, I could maybe get him to stay in those moments longer.”

Laura sits down across from him at her tiny kitchen table. “You’re not a psychiatrist.”

“No, I’m not. But I see him every day and I just feel like there’s something there. Something just out of reach that I don’t understand and if I did...” 

Stiles sighs. He’s not making any sense at all, but when he looks up, Laura is nodding.

“I know what you mean. I always felt like there was something that he just couldn’t tell me. First, because it was too hard and then, because he was too lost.”

“Any idea what?”

Laura shrugs. “Something to do with the fire, I guess, but Derek and I weren’t even there. We were at school when it happened.”

“Was there anything else going on back then?” Stiles asks. 

He sips at his tea and tries not to cringe at the bitter taste. Laura is the kind of health-nut that doesn’t even keep sugar in the house.

“I do remember that Derek was kind of weird for a little while before the fire,” she says slowly. “He’d disappear for hours and then come back moody and distant, but I just thought that was pretty typical sixteen-year-old stuff.”

“Yeah. Could be.” Stiles drums his fingers on the table. “Who do you think set the fire?”

Laura squints at him. “Are you sure you’re a nurse? You’re not like a part-time detective? Florence Nightingale by day, Sherlock Holmes by night?”

Stiles laughs out loud in surprise. “That’s the most accurate description I’ve ever heard of myself. Oh my God, I’m being weird, aren’t I? Just tell me to leave.”

“No, it’s okay. Honestly, I’m glad someone is really interested in my brother. I figured you were all just drugging him into oblivion over there.” Laura smirks, but Stiles can see the real concern in her eyes.

“Common misconception. Thankfully not true.”

“Anyway, I’ve never had any idea who could have done it. We never had any enemies. My Uncle Peter was the only one to escape the fire. He said there were a few guys that started it—He heard their voices. But, he caught a glimpse of someone else. It was a young, blonde woman.”

Stiles waits for her to say more. When she goes back to sipping her tea, Stiles shakes his head. 

“That’s it?” 

The corner of Laura’s mouth quirks up. “Frustrating, isn’t it?”

“I can only imagine.” Stiles leans back in his seat. “I should get going. Thanks for the tea.”

“No problem,” Laura responds as she gets up to walk him out.

Stiles pauses at the door. “You should come by the hospital sometime. It would be good for both of you, I think.”

Laura shrugs, her green eyes intent on Stiles in an eerily familiar way. “I just can’t stand to see him there, to think about him staying there. I feel like I’ve failed.”

Stiles slips out the door without any more to say. 

He’d felt the same way about his mother.

 

\-----

 

Derek carries on in his room for three days straight. 

He sleeps a lot and drinks water greedily when Stiles offers it to him. He won’t eat though and on the fourth day, there’s talk of IV nutrition and feeding tubes.

When he hears this, Stiles runs to the gas station next door for the milkshake he’d promised Derek so long ago. On impulse, he buys a hotdog, some chips, and a variety of candy, hoping something will entice Derek’s appetite.

Derek doesn’t get to give up. Stiles won’t let him.

He marches down to Derek’s room and taps his fingers on the door before pushing it open.

All of his resolve melts away.

There’s a young woman sitting beside the bed. 

Her blonde hair shines in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Hi.” Stiles clutches the food close to him. “Sorry, I didn’t know Derek had visitors.”

The woman stands up and smiles down at Derek. “It’s okay. We were just about done talking, right Sweetie?” 

Derek turns his usual glare up to one-hundred when he looks at her. “Are you going to torture me—or are you just going to talk me to death?”

The woman throws her head back and laughs, a clear, sharp tone.

There’s something in the sound that makes Stiles set his food down on the bedside table and prepare himself for a fight.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, voice dripping with sarcasm and sweetness. “It’s just that if I don’t laugh sometimes, I’ll cry, you know?”

She steps around the bed and offers her hand to Stiles. “I’m Kate. Derek and I are old friends.”

“Stiles.” Stiles shakes her hand and it’s warm and firm in his grip. Strong.

“You are so cute in your scrubs,” Kate coos at him. 

Every one of Stiles’ ‘bad guy’ alarms are suddenly shrieking in his head.

“Um, thanks.” Stiles takes a step away from her, closer to Derek. “Did you guys go to school together?” he guesses, although Kate looks too old for that.

“No.” Kate laughs again. “But thanks for the compliment, honey.”

Stiles backs up again, watching as she prowls (there’s no other word for it) around the room. 

A bit of sunlight catches on the silver around her neck. It’s a decorated pendant on a thick chain.

“That’s a nice necklace,” Stiles comments as casually as he can. “Where’d you get it?”

“Family heirloom,” Kate purrs.

She winks and just like that all the pieces begin to fall into place in Stiles’ head like tumblers lining up in a lock. 

Stiles slides his hand into his pocket, feeling for his cell phone.

“Well, as much fun as this little reunion has been, I really need to get going,” Kate says. “See you later, Sweetie. Stiles.” 

She struts out of the room like she owns the world.

Stiles yanks his phone out and dials security as fast as he can. He tells them to hold Kate at the door, that she stole something from a resident.

It’s at least partially true, even though ‘stole’ isn’t quite the right word.

With trembling fingers, Stiles calls his dad. It takes some convincing, but he manages to explain enough to get his dad to come over to the hospital with two squad cars.

Derek stretches a hand out for him as he talks and Stiles reaches out and holds on without thinking.

When that’s done, when Stiles is sure and certain that everything is being taken care of, he sinks onto the edge of the bed beside Derek.

Derek sits up slowly. His eyes are wide when they land on Stiles. “You came to help me.”

Stiles laughs, on the verge of hysteria, and nods. “Yes.”

“I don’t know when she’s coming back. We need to get out of here,” Derek says,  shoving at the blankets that cover his legs. He reaches for his shoes where they sit beside the bed.

Stiles grabs Derek’s hands to stop him. “Wait. Wait a minute. Look at me.”

Like magic, Derek does.

“Listen, she’s not ever coming back,” Stiles tells him. “You’re safe. Do you understand?”

“We can’t trust her,” Derek says stiffly.

“Yeah, no kidding. It’s going to be okay though. We’re going to take care of everything.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s my fault.”

Stiles feels his jaw drop. “Is that—? Do you really think that? Look at me.” 

He reaches out and holds Derek’s face in his hands. 

Derek’s green eyes are huge and troubled, but clear.

“None of this is your fault. There was nothing you could have done differently. _It’s not your fault_.”

Those must be the magic words, because Derek crumbles forward into Stiles. He breathes heavy and warm onto Stiles’ shoulder and clings to the front of his scrub top.

Stiles tries not to shiver at the tickle of Derek’s breath on his neck, because that’s probably not an appropriate reaction when your patient is having a breakthrough.

Stiles knows it’s way too late for that, though. He hasn’t thought of Derek as just a patient for a very long time, if ever, and that’s why he doesn’t react as fast as he should when Derek sits up and turns just enough to press his mouth to Stiles’. 

_Oh._

Derek’s lips are dry and feverish. 

Stiles leans into him for a moment, absorbing the warmth and comfort as the adrenaline of _Kate_ fades away. 

He closes his eyes at the hot rush of Derek’s breath over his mouth. 

But it can’t be. Not now. Not like this.

Stiles pulls back, ignoring Derek’s groan of protest, and turns his face away, toward the door.

The Sheriff is standing in the doorway.

Melissa is right behind him.

 

\-----

 

Miraculously, because his dad and Melissa love him very, very much and know how to keep a secret, Stiles doesn’t lose his job.

He transfers to the emergency department at the hospital. Patients move in and out within hours. There’s no time to get attached.

Stiles follows the news as Kate goes to trial for a decade-old arson case. 

Peter and Laura’s pictures are in the paper, faces stony and familiar green eyes looking out from the newsprint. There’s no mention of Derek at all.

Stiles doesn’t forget. He tries to. He throws himself into his work and spends what little spare time he has taking care of his Dad.

Months pass.

Stiles watches on the news as Kate is carried off in handcuffs.

He should feel closure. He should be satisfied, but instead he feels shaken and unsettled. 

The loose ends of life are unraveling within his chest.

 

\-----

 

On a Saturday night when they’re both off, the Sheriff drags Stiles out to the Applebee’s in town. 

Stiles drums his fingers on the table and tries to talk enough to not worry his dad. He scans the crowd and listens to the alt-rock playing through the sound system.

Across the room, in a corner booth, he catches sight of a dark head of hair, bowed over a table.

Stiles freezes.

It can’t be. He’s truly beginning to lose his mind. This is the moment when he cracks up over an unhealthy obsession with an off-limits, ex-patient.

Derek sits up straight and finds Stiles’ eyes all the way across the restaurant.

Stiles nearly chokes on his drink. 

The Sheriff reaches over to pat him on the back. “All right, son?”

“Yeah. Yep.” Stiles nods and slithers out of the booth. “Just going to go to the bathroom. I just... I’ll be right back.”

He makes it through the crowd to the blessedly empty bathroom and splashes a handful of water over his face. 

He needs to let this go. 

He needs to move on before he makes himself crazy, before his mother’s disease creeps into his head, too. Stiles shakes his head like a wet dog, trying to loosen the awful thoughts clouding his mind.

He runs his hands over his hair, takes a deep breath, and turns to leave.

The door swings open and Derek steps in.

Stiles stares. 

Time stretches out between them like a spider’s web.

“Are you okay?” Stiles starts to say at the same time that Derek says, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles shakes his head and waves his hands. He steps closer and reaches out to hold onto Derek’s arm, just to be sure he’s real. He’s really there.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

Derek nods. “I’m... I’m better.”

He definitely looks better, Stiles notes. He looks like he’s put on a bit of muscle and like he spends a lot of time outside. Healthy.

“Are you out of the hospital?”

“I’m at home, with Laura.” Derek brings his hand up to grip Stiles’ arm in return. His fingers flex around Stiles’ plaid shirt sleeve. “I wanted to tell you I was sorry. And also thank you for saving my life.”

“Don’t be sorry.” 

Derek shakes his head and looks down at his shoes. “The things I said and did, I shouldn’t have—I kissed you, didn’t I?”

Stiles nods, not trusting his voice.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Derek says. “I know what it’s like to not want something like that.”

“But, I did want it.” Stiles bites his lip hard. “I cared about you. I cared too much.”

“I was out of my head. I thought that Laura was dead. I thought—” Derek almost laughs, but his voice cracks in the middle of it. “—I thought I was a werewolf. That I was being hunted for it because that was easier than dealing with the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” Stiles whispers.

Derek’s eyes are just as steady and intense as Stiles remembers when he looks up.

“Bad things happen all the time, to all kinds of people for no reason at all.” 

Derek squeezes Stiles’ arm tighter and shakes his head. “Thank you for everything you did. I remember you talking to me and I think... I think that’s what helped me start to find my way back, but there’s no way you could have liked me then. Not when I was like that.”

“Well, maybe I could like you now,” Stiles says desperately. He’s not going to let Derek walk away, not after months of worrying and wondering how he was doing.

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him.

Stiles grins, excitement rushing through him at the idea. “Let’s start over. We’ve just met.”

“I don’t think that will work.” Derek looks down at his shoes. “I still have bad days. I still get... lost sometimes.”

Stiles lifts his chin, certain. “Bad days don’t scare me.” 

Derek looks up at him doubtfully.

“Seriously. On a scale of ice cream to zombie spiders, bad days are like a _two_ , maybe.”

There’s the barest hint of a smile on Derek’s face. That’s all the encouragement Stiles needs.

He lets go of Derek’s arm and holds out his hand. “My name is Stiles Stilinski. I’m an E.R. nurse.”

Derek still looks a bit skeptical, but he shakes Stiles’ hand and plays along. “Derek Hale. I deliver pizza.”

“Seriously?” Stiles laughs in surprise, picturing Derek in a greasy polo shirt and a baseball cap. 

“Subs and sandwiches, too,” Derek says, his lips twisting like he wants to smile and is trying not to. 

Stiles smiles, because Derek could be a meter maid for all he cares and it would still be amazing. “Do you like it?” 

“It’s all right.” Derek shrugs. “I have a pretty sweet car, so... You should check it out sometime.”

“I should?” 

Derek nods. “Absolutely.”

“How about now? Is now a good time?” Stiles taps a finger against his chin.

With a grin, Derek grabs him by the hand and drags him out of the bathroom. 

They stop by Laura’s table and then at the Sheriff’s. 

Then they’re outside and running across the parking lot together, under the night sky.

 

\-----

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: With both personal and professional experience, I am aware that Derek's recovery is both unusual and unrealistic. However, this is fiction and so I must make things happen. If you have concerns with this, feel free to send me a message.


End file.
